


Service With A Smile

by absoluteMastard



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Gen, Original Statement, Season 3, Statement Fic, and why not traumatize some poor worker on the way?, mannequins, nobody asked for this and yet i still wrote it, retail job nightmares, takes place around mag101, they had to get the lotion from somewhere
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-12
Updated: 2019-11-12
Packaged: 2021-01-29 04:40:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21404338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/absoluteMastard/pseuds/absoluteMastard
Summary: "Do you have a preferred brand of lotion? Because you have not been taking care of your skin, and we really do need it in better shape before we peel you!...Alright, I'll just ask them to pick up a selection!"
Comments: 9
Kudos: 110





	Service With A Smile

**Author's Note:**

> So, either the Strangers ordered lotion online (tiny brain), or they broke in somewhere and stole lotion (expanding brain), or they deadass just went into a store during business hours and bought lotion (galaxy brain).

“Statement of Maria Raposo, regarding a customer she assisted at her department store job. Original statement taken May 20th, 2018. Audio recording by Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, London. Statement begins—”

\--

"Customer service work has always been chaotic in terms of customer interaction, but that’s about what every cashier says. We see all manner of people come through, nice and rude, boring and odd; hell, some weeks we make a competition of whose weird customer story takes the cake. Even if it was a terrible time in that moment, we can all laugh about it later since we’re all in the same boat and know what it’s like trying to appease those impatient mums sporting a pixie cut.

But this last one… I’m not very keen to share the experience with my coworkers. I mean—I’ve seen weird things. I’ve seen potheads come in and zone out for half an hour while trying to pick out snacks, and I can laugh at stuff like that. Absurd things always get me, but this? I felt unsafe, even though the person wasn’t doing anything outwardly threatening. Sometimes you just know when someone means bad news.

I was working the closing shift. It was Sunday, so we were closing at seven, and there was still some light in the sky. The last half-hour was going so slow, with not many customers and everything in my area already stocked. Two other customers were still in the produce section, finishing up what looked like a full cart of items each, but they seemed to be keeping an eye on the time, and were nearly ready to check out. It was fifteen minutes until closing, and I wished I had the authority to close early when it was clearly dead. I really wish I could have.

The sliding doors opened automatically as a person walked through, to the dismay of my coworker Craig and I. They wore a blue zip-up jacket with the hood up, and hands shoved into their pockets. Long bleach-blonde hair cascaded out from one side of their covered head. With their smaller frame and the clothing type, they looked to be a young adult woman. The fact that she hadn’t pulled the hood off once coming inside came off as sketchy to me, but I didn’t pay it any mind. If someone wanted to shoplift when there were very few people in the store to bring attention to, they could just try. And really, if she wanted to steal anything of value, she could have gone to the electronic store right next to us. If you needed toiletries and food badly enough to steal it, be my guest. It wasn’t like upper management was planning to reward me for busting thieves anytime soon. My manager could keep a close eye from the camera feed in his office if he really gave a damn about loss prevention.

She walked in the direction of the skin and hair products aisle, and slipped out of sight. I decided to bring more attention to preparing the place to close as soon as the clock turned to Seven. I was assigned to stocking shelves today, but finished up early and instead had been lingering by the cash desk to chat with Craig, who seemed happy to have company. Working at the till was torture, when it was this slow.

With the way that the stranger hadn’t grabbed a basket, I assumed she was just stopping in for a quick purchase, but I hadn’t seen her reappear from the aisle she went down. Again, I didn’t care if she was stealing from this department store chain, but an employee lingering around was a good way to passive-aggressively tell them to hurry up, pay, and let us close.

I found her exactly where I saw her vanish to. She was of a shorter stature, reaching up by her toes to grab what looked like the sixth bottle in her armful. From the look of the empty spaces on the shelves, she had just picked one bottle from each brand lined up. All of them, body and face lotion. Just as I made that note, two of the bottles that were held between her arm and chest slipped out from her hold and fell to the floor. On instinct, I stepped in to help, leaning down to pick up the bottles for her. She didn’t move an inch for me, which became a little awkward with me leaning down literally right at her feet to pick up the dropped items. I didn’t take it to heart; she wasn’t the first customer to see me as furniture and not a living, breathing person.

I decided this was a good chance to convince her to hurry it up. I put on my customer-service face, and spoke an octave higher than my regular tone. “Can I bring these to the front for you until you’re ready to check out?” I asked, smiling. I put emphasis on the last two words, hoping to get the message across.

“Certainly.” She said cheerily. She was still facing the shelf as she replied, still not having moved since I picked up the bottles for her. I was about to respond and turn away when she spoke up again. “Would you mind telling me which one you recommend?” Her tone was this honey-sweet, almost patronizing tone, like she was talking to an eight-year-old playing shopkeeper.

You know how you can usually tell how someone is emoting by their voice? Like when they smile, you can normally hear it? This wasn’t the case with her. I watched her face as she asked her question, and it was stone-cold expressionless. Didn’t match the singsong nanny voice coming from her whatsoever. I don’t know how she managed that, but it was so unsettling that I nearly forgot she was waiting for an answer. I just held up the bottle of Dove already in my arm and said that was the one I normally used.

“Thank you, dearie. I won’t be long.” She chirped, holding her armful out for me to take. Her head was still faced to the shelf, scanning the bottles, as she did so. I realized I couldn’t see her eyes with the way her bangs were laying, and with the hood. Eager to end the interaction, I took the bottles and walked back to the front. As I turned the corner, I saw her grab two more lotions of different brands.  
By that time, we were eight minutes to closing, Craig was nearly done ringing through one man’s cart full of groceries, and the other waiting in line. I deposited my armful of moisturizer into a basket and left it on the second till’s counter before waving over the second shopper in line. They muttered apologies for the last-minute shop, and I just nodded absentmindedly as I scanned their items. When Craig was finished with his customer, he moved to my till to help bag their items quicker.

While we were just finishing up and the customer was paying, I caught a glimpse of blonde hair again as the last patron filed in line behind my till. Craig noticed, too, and moved back to his side and called out that he could help her. If she heard him, she didn’t seem to show it. She didn’t show anything as she stood there, not even fidgeting. She just clutched her five bottles of lotion and stared forward, waiting. Craig looked to me and shrugged, instead starting to clean up his counter.

I handed my customer their receipt, and felt a pit in my stomach as the blonde woman stepped forward, dumping her armful down on the belt for me. I retrieved the ones I took for her and started silently scanning. Neither of us said anything, and I made a point of keeping my eyes downcast as I scanned and bagged the lotions. All of them were the biggest size available in the brand, a variety of intensive-repair and sensitive skin care and aloe vera. If this was some joke, I didn’t see the punchline. I thought about _Silence of the Lambs_ for a moment, and regretted it immediately.

She was resting her hands on the counter, still as a statue as she waited for me to finish scanning. I noticed her knuckles, or lack-thereof. They were absolutely smooth, with no lines or hairs, and her fingertips had no nails at the end. It was like she was made of plastic. She started tapping her fingers, as if to signal that she saw me notice, and I ripped my gaze away. I was looking at them long enough to know what I saw; it was no quick glance or trick of the light.

I couldn’t finish the transaction fast enough. I said her total and asked how she’d be paying, and she started digging in her jacket pocket and produced a hundred pound bill. Our policy is to check large bills, but I was determined to get this person out of here as quick as possible. I handed her the change, and without thinking about it, ended up brushing her hand as I gave her the coins. Cold and smooth plastic.

She grabbed my wrist with her free hand as I tried to pull away, and I froze. It wasn’t a painful or rough grip, but I knew if I tried to pull, her stiff fingers wouldn’t budge. “Dear?” She chimed at me. She held on insistently, as if waiting for me to address her. Reluctantly, I decided to look at her face. Her bangs were very nearly obscuring her eyes, and for good reason. They were made of glass. The hair was clearly a wig once seen up close, and was sitting too far back from where her hairline should be. She was smiling this time, her grin wider than what a natural face could make. As she spoke, the smooth surface of the plastic flowed like water, the sheen of her smooth pearly teeth catching the light. It was uncanny, how real it could have looked, but there was no doubt that this face was anything but organic. “Service is always better with a _smile_!” She said, letting go and reaching for her shopping bag, giggling like she’d told a joke. In that moment, I wasn't sure if I wanted to run away or throw up.

I watched her as she sauntered out. I was so shaken that I didn’t hear whatever Craig said to me after she left. I just nodded and returned to closing up the place. He didn’t realize I was scared of whatever I saw, he must have not seen her up close. He didn’t comment on me working quietly for the half-hour of closing up the place until I got out of there. I made a point of walking out with him even though I never waited for him normally. No way in hell was I risking running into that thing while I was alone.

It’s only been five days but I haven’t seen her again, thankfully. Hopefully it stays that way, considering she bought a couple year's supply of moisturizer. That might not matter though, since it was definitely not meant for her."

\--

“…S—uh. Statement ends. I-I guess I never considered where the lotion came from. I can’t deny a certain amount of bitterness knowing a statement directly related to my kidnapping ended up here, but without the inside knowledge, there is no seen correlation. Not much follow-up to be made here, Ms. Raposo rejected our request for follow-up information. I do recall about a dozen different bottles of lotion brought in where they kept me, so the story checks out. I… I think I’m going to be sick. Recording ends.”


End file.
